


He's Not a Bad Cook, I Swear!

by Cumberbatch Critter (ivelostmyspectacles)



Series: Sleepy Hollow OTP Prompts [6]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Allergies, Cooking, Dinner, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Ichabod cooking, Poor Abbie, Poor Ichabod
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 11:38:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2546177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/Cumberbatch%20Critter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichabod decides to cook dinner as a thank you for Abbie. It just figures that he doesn't know she has food allergies.</p>
<p>
  <b>Prompt: Imagine Person A makes dinner; Person B is allergic to something in the food.</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	He's Not a Bad Cook, I Swear!

"I didn't know you could cook, Crane."

Ichabod glanced over at her, raising his eyebrows. "How do you think I survive here by myself? Or in the past, for that matter."

Abbie shrugged. "Cooking over a bonfire?"

Ichabod looked at her thoughtfully. "In some cases, yes." He turned back to the range. "But, I acquired a set of cookbooks, from the library," he grabbed the oven mitts, "so I thought that I would give it a try. Considering I have no one else to cook for, nor anyone better to cook for," he added, "I thought I'd make dinner for you." He stooped down to get whatever he was making from the stove. "I owe you many thank you's, lest we forget."

"I kind of thought we paid each other back by saving each other's lives or, you know, buying rum."

Ichabod shrugged. "Not always, Lieutenant."

Abbie, as surprised as she was, wasn't about to look a food gift horse in the mouth. And everything _did_ smell absolutely amazing, so that was a plus. She hadn't had time for a good meal since, well... the holidays. And those were touch-and-go as they were.

She didn't know what it was - he told her the name and she forgot it quickly, because he said it in a foreign language (the ‘proper’ name) - but it was delicious. She was going to stop eating out and let him cook for her all the time.

She was buying him a damn cookbook for his birthday.

It wasn't until halfway through the meal that she noticed that something was... well, wrong. It started with a little bit of a tickle in her throat. She tried to clear it away and took a drink of water. It didn't help. It climaxed with her throat feeling like it was closing up and she reached the sudden, _obvious_ realization.

"Crane... are there nuts in this?" she muttered. Her voice was scratchy.

Ichabod had been watching her in increasing alarm, body ramrod straight as he responded. "Chopped pecans. Why?"

Abbie dropped her fork and pushed the chair back.

"Miss Mills?" Ichabod was on his feet instantly. "What's wrong? I followed the instructions in the book!"

Abbie waved her hand. "No, I'm allergic." She tried not to notice how his face fell when she said it out loud. She cleared her throat instead and tried to push on. "Crane, there's an EpiPen..." she coughed. "Glove compartment... my car."

Ichabod had stepped towards her, but now fell back. The worry was etched into the lines around his eyes. "What's an EpiPen?" he demanded, with something like panic in his tone.

Abbie coughed again, trying to clear the blockage from her throat that wouldn't clear up that simply. She was drenched in sweat and her head was swimming. She hadn't had a damn allergic reaction like this in a long time. "It's the only thing there that's not paper or ketchup packets!" she gasped out on one breath, stabilizing herself on the cabinet.

Ichabod nodded quickly and ran from the kitchen.

Abbie tried to breathe, to focus on the ticking of the clock in the room, on anything that would keep her from a panic attack or passing out. To Crane's credit, he came back quickly.

"What do I do?" he asked quickly, staring between her and the EpiPen.

"Stab me in the thigh."

" _What_?" And he still found it in himself to be flabbergasted by things that were considered normal to them in this age.

Abbie reached for his hand, jerking it forward to slam the pen into her thigh.

Ichabod jumped when she did so. "Lieutenant-"

Abbie let out a shaky breath. She let go of his hand about ten seconds later; he immediately recoiled and the EpiPen bounced to the floor. Abbie's legs wobbled precariously.

"Miss Mills!" Ichabod caught her. "Is it not working? Hold on a moment, I'll dial your mobile doctors-"

With as much annoyed gusto as she could manage right now, she clung onto Ichabod's sleeve tightly and tried to straighten up. "Give me... a few seconds!"

Ichabod fell silent, although Abbie knew he was watching her intently. He helped her back over to the chair she had vacated in a rush to get some water. Soon enough, her breathing returned to its usual rhythm, although her lungs still felt devoid of oxygen. She basically just felt like shit.

"Lieutenant?" Ichabod leaned over her. He was _way_ too close. Or maybe Abbie just felt like that because she was hot and sweaty and maybe in danger of throwing up. The adrenaline didn't make her feel good to begin with.

"I'm okay," she muttered. She could smell his cologne. Woodsy, subtle but strong, with a faint hint of spice. But Abbie thought that he didn't wear cologne. Did he smell like that all the time? "But we need to go to the hospital..."

Ichabod straightened up slightly. "I am sorry, Miss Mills. I didn't mean-"

Abbie held up her hands weakly. "You didn't know I was allergic." She swore if he worried any more, he would self-combust. "But I need you to drive." She clumsily pulled her keys out of her pocket, holding them out to him. "And I swear, if you crash my damn car, Crane..." she added, trying to diffuse the tension with humor.

Ichabod didn't seem to get it. He just looked down at her with the same frighteningly intense gaze in his eyes before taking the keys dangling in front of him. "Very well." He held out his hand. "Allow me to assist you, Lieutenant."

She was too exhausted to argue. So, she just took his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. "Thanks," she muttered, holding onto his arm.

Crane didn't respond, but Abbie wasn't blind to the look on his face. She'd have to argue with him later that he had nothing to feel guilty for. At least, she reasoned with herself, he _had_ a conscience. For being over two hundred years old, he seemed to have more humanity in him than some of the people she dealt with these days.

"Careful," Ichabod muttered, as Abbie stumbled over her own feet. One of his hands settled into the small of her back and she had to flinch because her clothes were literally drenched in sweat, but he wasn't deterred. "Just step this way," he continued. "I've got you."

Abbie smiled faintly, despite herself. "I know you do, Crane. Trust me."

"I would trust you with my life, Lieutenant. Make no mistake."

"Likewise," Abbie muttered. "All we have is each other, right?"

Ichabod smiled faintly at that, but it disappeared as soon as he opened the car door for her. Yep. She was going to have to argue with him later. He shouldn't look so damn guilty for something that _she_ hadn't told him.

She was going to prove she was fine... as soon as she got her strength back, that was.

 


End file.
